


Saved by a Dream of You

by Scotch



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scotch/pseuds/Scotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shay's had nightmares ever since the tragedy at Lisbon. Haytham's not as oblivious to it as he'd hoped, though it's not necessarily a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saved by a Dream of You

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing!
> 
> I ship these two so hard I don't even... *dies* Is it sad that my two favorite AC characters ever are Templars? I feel like there's a special place in hell for me. ...And I hope they make more playable Templars in the future.

_Chaos_. That's the only word for it, really. Shay couldn't say what went wrong, or what exactly triggered it, but that was last thing on his mind. He had to survive. Nothing else mattered. Running on a deadly combination of shock and pure adrenaline, he'd so far managed to keep pressing ahead steadily as the city of Lisbon crumbled around him. Shay lost his footing a few times, when the violent tremors shook the earth. Letting instinct guide him, he tore across the trembling terracotta rooftops in the direction of the harbor. He had to reach the _Morrigan_ – if she and the crew hadn't been swallowed by tidal waves triggered by the intense quake.

 _Don't look down,_ Shay told himself, gasping for breath and ignoring the pounding of his heart as he tried to reign in his mounting panic. _There!_ He could see the harbor, and the _Morrigan_ thankfully was safe, though she was being tossed around like a toy on the rough waves. That was when he made the mistake of looking down – at the ground that was buckling, cracking and threatening to swallow the ruined city whole with him still in it.

Somehow, he made it to the top of a retaining wall overlooking the sea. Even as Shay dove from it, the bricks crumbled and sagged beneath his feet. There was the Morrigan! She was...

"No!" Shay howled mid dive, as he saw a massive wave throw the ship into the shore, destroying the hull. The crew jumped from the wreckage in a hopeless bid for survival. Shay hit the water hard, the force of it driving the air from his lungs. He struggled to breathe, but the waves pulled him under and -

Shay came awake with a ragged gasp and rolled right off the edge of his bed, hitting the floor of the captain's cabin on board the _Morrigan_ with a loud thump. His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he quickly took stock of his surroundings. Silently, Shay reminded himself that, no, the _Morrigan_ hadn't sunk that fateful day in Portugal. He wasn't an assassin anymore, either. He was a Templar. He was atoning, or at least _trying_ to atone for the tragedy in Lisbon. It wasn't his fault, he knew that, but following his orders blindly certainly had been.

He shook his head and hauled himself up from the floor. Irritably, he jerked his coat off the rack near the door and threw it over his shoulders. Shay didn't bother tying his hair back; he just slipped on his well-worn boots and ventured out onto the deck. It would be useless to try going back to sleep when his ears were still ringing with the sound of shifting earth, and the desperate screams of the people of Lisbon as they met their ends.

He could see a faint reddish glow on the horizon in the east. It was almost dawn, then. That wasn't so bad; he must have gotten almost a full night's sleep. That was certainly an improvement, or dumb luck – no matter how much he claimed that he made his own luck. It looked like a storm was brewing, though. He heaved a sigh and leaned against the railing, gazing out over the open sea with a carefully vacant expression. There wasn't anyone to see him (aside from a few deckhands), but it wouldn't do to show weakness, especially not with the Grand Master on board. ...Or Gist. He couldn't wait until they hit land just to get away from Gist for a while. He was a good man, but the way he prattled on about absolutely _nothing_ was driving Shay up a wall. Haytham, too, he'd noticed with some amusement the day before.

"You're up a bit early this morning, aren't you Shay?" ...Speak of the Devil.

"Just wanted to check on the weather." Shay lied smoothly, unable to keep the weariness out his voice entirely. "It will storm in the afternoon, probably."

"Nightmares." Haytham said astutely, and came to stand beside Shay. He gave the Grand Master a sideways glance, but didn't reply. Haytham could read him like a damned book; nothing got by the man. _Nothing_. ...Not that Shay should be surprised by that, Haytham wasraised to be an assassin, after all. Perhaps that was why they got along so well, they understood each other. ...And both made the same choice to throw their lot in with the Templars.

"Lisbon." Shay told him flatly. "To say it was a 'traumatic experience' would be an understatement."

"I get the sense you may be quoting someone, there." Haytham replied with a faint hint of sarcasm. He was dead serious most of the time, but he did sometimes have a sense of humor. Still, Shay was pretty sure he'd never heard the man laugh.

"I was." Shay muttered, dropping his gaze from the waves in the distance to meet Haytham's stormy grey eyes. "Ignorant fools."

Haytham didn't comment. He didn't need to, really. Shay had chosen this side in the centuries old battle, and it was obvious why. They branded him a traitor, but Haytham knew he was the one who felt betrayed – with good reason.

"Never forget the events that made you who you are." Haytham said sadly, and even Shay caught the unspoken hint: 'like me'. "Think of your scars as reminders of a lesson well learned – especially the ones no one else can see."

* * *

Shay was in the monastery in Lisbon, blindly entering the hidden passage without a care in the world. He had it. He had the apple, and the others would finally take him seriously. Something wasn't right, though. He should leave. He shouldn't be here, and something terrible would happen if he didn't turn around _right now._ Shay kept going, taking in his surroundings with awe. These precursors certainly had strange architecture – all clean angles and Shay couldn't even imagine what type of stone these walls were cut from.

There. There it was, an odd geometrically shaped crystal, hovering inside some sort of alter. Without even thinking, Shay reached for it and -

"No!" He shouted, coming awake with a violent jerk. Panting, he stared up at the ceiling of the room he'd rented in the Green Dragon Tavern. Boston. Not Portugal. The night was still, and quiet, aside from a few drunks arguing downstairs. One of them was Hickey, Shay was pretty sure. ...A real charmer, that one.

Shaken, and definitely not able to go back to sleep, Shay changed into his Templar uniform and decided to go for a walk. He pulled his hair back loosely with a bit of red ribbon as he left the room. The area where Haytham sometimes held meetings was deserted, aside from a very drunk Thomas Hickey drooling into the wooden tabletop. Shay wrinkled his nose in disgust and kicked an empty tankard out of his way as he headed for the stairs. If only it weren't for Hickey's usefulness as a liaison with the underworld of Boston, Shay might might honestly consider putting the man out of his misery. He wasn't even watching where he was going when he flung open the door to the Tavern. ...And walked right into Haytham. He'd been about to come in, apparently.

"What hour do you call this?" The Grand Master asked, raising his eyebrows as Shay apologized profusely.

"I... A bit after midnight, I believe." Shay answered dully, and slipped past him.

"Nightmares again?" Shay ignored him and started to walk away in the direction of the Harbor. He would go check on the _Morrigan_ 's crew; some of them would still be awake. It gave him something to do at least – a distraction. "Shay."

The ex-assassin sighed in annoyance.

" _What?_ " He snapped, stopping but not turning to face Haytham.

"We really need to work on your attitude sometime, it is very off-putting. A few lessons in proper etiquette would hardly kill you." Haytham said flippantly. "I am merely concerned for your well-being, and your ability to perform your duties."

Shay sighed, and gave in. "I thought that if I chose the right path I'd at least be able to sleep at night." He said bitterly. "Instead I just feel like I'm alone in the world, holding a blade across the throats of the people that saved me from the gutter. I know it's for the right reasons, and that I have no choice, but that doesn't make murdering my friends any easier."

"I must be some kind of monster. It's not the thought of driving my blade into Hope's heart, or shooting Adéwalé in the head that haunts me – it's what happened in Lisbon." Shay explained, in utter misery. "'Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent', that's one of the most important tenets of being an Assassin. Yet... How many innocents died that day? Hundreds? Thousands? I don't dare to believe that Achilles was ignorant of what would happen. Yet they called me 'traitor', and my best friend shot me in the back." Shay was grateful that the street was empty aside from a single scrawny orange tabby cat picking through some garbage near the tavern door. Absently, Haytham leaned down and fed him a bit of dried beef he'd taken from the Tavern, while Shay did his best to prevent a complete emotional meltdown.

"There is no such thing as good or evil, only convictions and those with the courage to stand behind theirs." Haytham said when he noticed that Shay had fallen silent. "The Assassins believe they are right, and that we are wrong. Many of the Templars are ignorant enough to believe that blindly as well – just in the opposite sense. The world is not black and white, and the Assassins are not evil simply because they disagree with us. They are human too, and entitled to their own opinions, just as we are. For me, my choice to remain a Templar was not about destroying them, it was to prevent them from destroying humanity – and themselves. If that means I have to kill most of them to accomplish that, then so be it. Though, I suppose many would criticize the fact that I care for the people I am set against, as an insurmountable weakness."

"I wonder if those that never tried to see the other side's point of view can ever truly understand it as a whole." Shay replied miserably.

"Probably not, rather, they do not _want_ to." Haytham said enigmatically. "People need guidance and order; it is human nature. Even the Assassins follow their mentors and their creed. They do not act as independently as they think. Those of us that _can_ act wisely without being told how to are rare."

"True." Shay agreed, his eyes darting to a British guard that was nearing them as he went about his nightly patrol. Had Haytham just complimented him? It was indirect and vague, but he knew it was about as close as he would get to praise from him.

"Come inside, Shay." Haytham said, and nodded his head back in the direction of the Green Dragon. Shay went without any resistance, following Haytham back inside the now empty tavern. Catherine was still there, and looked up at them with a frown. When she recognized them, she just went back to her work without a word, complaints about the tavern being closed dying on her lips.

"Where were you at this hour, if you do not mind me prying?" Shay asked as Haytham started up the creaky wooden stairs with him at his heels.

"You are not the only one plagued with sleepless nights. You could say that it takes one to know one." Haytham told him, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"I know _just_ how to fix this. You both need some quality company. You know, the kind that charges by the hour for a good time. I know a few talented ones I can recommend." Hickey's voice called as they stepped up to the second floor. Shay raised his eyebrows and Haytham frowned. "Might help with that bug you got up your butt." He added with a pointed wink in Haytham's direction. The faint twitch of annoyance that passed over Haytham's features more or less confirmed that the Shay and the Grand Master had about the same opinion of Hickey. Regardless, Shay had to admit that the man must have stones of steel to speak to Haytham like that. ...Or he was still intoxicated, which was probably likely judging by the loud belch that followed the statement.

"Catherine, could you get Thomas to take a bath? It smells like something died up here." Haytham called down over the landing and motioned for Shay to follow him. Catherine grumbled something in aggravation, but dropped what she was doing anyway. Who was she to argue with the Green Dragon's main source of income? Shay just ignored Thomas' whining as Catherine nearly bodily dragged him down the stairs.

He followed Haytham into his room as he shut the door behind them. The Grand Master was obviously used to finer accommodations (judging by his possessions), but he made do with what he must. Haytham sat in the ornate red velvet chair near a small oaken writing desk, that was littered with maps and bits of paper containing snippets of information about the local natives. Shay silently sat on the edge of the bed where Haytham pointed.

"You know, he isn't wrong. Though, I would not suggest buying a whore. There is no reason you would need to settle for their kind." Haytham told Shay with some amusement. Shay just rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"This may be the first time someone told me I _should_ use the pleasures of the flesh as some form of escapism." He said with a smirk.

"I am not the best example to follow in that regard. Charles will never let me live down the time he caught me having an affair with a native woman." Shay couldn't help it, he burst out laughing. It just wasn't something he could see happening – the cultured, well mannered Grand Master of the Colonial Rite tasting of the forbidden fruits of the forest, or some other nonsense. Though, he did know that Haytham greatly respected and admired the Native people...

"I won't ask." Shay replied, eyes twinkling.

"Probably for the best. Though I do regret that it never became something more. She was an incredible woman." Haytham told him, smiling. "I actually wanted to ask you something, about what happened at Lisbon."

Shay cringed. "I try not to think of it in my waking hours. What do you need to know, Grand Master?"

"The precursor site that you located beneath the monastery... Is there any hope for an excavation? It may be in ruins, but I am not one to waste an opportunity to gain knowledge of our predecessors where possible." Haytham asked, organizing the pile of papers that he'd left in disarray on his desk. Shay pondered the question for a moment before answering.

"I can't say for sure. It's possible that some of the structure might still be there, but getting to it will be difficult with the amount of destruction. The entire city just... crumbled." Shay explained with a frown. "I'd say it's a waste of time, but then I'm not an expert of antiquities."

"Very well then. I'll let the members of our order back in London look into if they want, but we won't bother with it ourselves. I'm more concerned with the political situation right now, anyway. We mustn't allow the Assassin's to get involved any more than they already are." Haytham replied. "You should get some rest. You'll need it tomorrow."

* * *

This time, Shay _did_ dream of something other than Lisbon – not that it was an improvement. He was racing through New York, a dull ache in his chest. He knew Hope had poisoned him, that he'd be as good as dead if he stopped moving. ...But all he wanted to do was crawl in a ditch and let it take him. He couldn't. He had to stop – no _kill_ – Hope. He didn't have any other choice. Well, it wouldn't matter if he couldn't catch her. She always was faster than him, and he'd only narrowly avoided the poisoned gas grenades she'd been tossing over her shoulder as he gave chase.

"Give up, Shay! You're dead already!" Hope called to him, her skirts whipping around a corner as she strafed hard to her right. Shay nearly stumbled as he skidded the side, trying to close the distance between them.

"If I give up, it means I've given up on what I believe in!" He shouted hoarsely, vaulting over a garden fence and following on the ground as Hope climbed a building. She'd have to come down sometime – hopefully he'd get the jump on her.

"You had so much potential, it's shame that you chose the wrong side!" Hope called, and hopped down from the roof of an apothecary. She shrieked in horror, as one of Shay's hidden blades pierced her back as he bodily tackled her to the ground from behind. She'd misjudged his position.

"There is no right or wrong, only convictions." Shay muttered, lowering her limp body the cobblestone road as gently as he could. He felt a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the poison when he looked into her dead eyes, and saw the blood staining her gown. _What have I done?_ He thought in despair, as he heard Hope's voice one last time.

"Shay!" She cried, her lips not moving. He shook his head and tried to untangle himself from her limbs that felt like lead, pinning him to the ground.

"Shay!" Wait... That wasn't Hope's voice. Even as he realized it, her body vanished, as did New York and the guards that were fast approaching.

"Can you hear me?" Shay blinked slowly. The world seemed to be spinning, and he felt like he'd like he'd leaped from a roof and missed the hay pile he'd been aiming for – _wait._ He'd been with Haytham and Thomas, trying to intercept a group of Assassins planning on taking out Benjamin Church as he left his practice. ...Hadn't he?

"Shay!"

"Mmm...? What?" He managed and winced as the bright afternoon sunlight stung his eyes. Now fully awake he remembered that yes, he was in Manhattan. He also realized that he was in pain – a _lot_ of pain, and obviously half draped across someone's lap. ...Someone that smelled faintly of some kind of expensive cologne and gun smoke. He opened his eyes again and looked up to see Haytham watching him with concern. There was a smear of blood across his face, and a tear in his jacket sleeve.

"Church?" Shay moaned.

"Alive. Thomas managed to get him to safety. Sometimes it's easy to forget that we're the only ones that are any good in a real fight." Haytham said quietly. "Can you remember anything?"

"I went to leap onto the roof of the church and then... Nothing." Shay replied shaking his head.

"One of the Assassins shot you, and you lost your footing. Needless to say it was _quite_ the fall." Haytham told Shay, helping him get unsteadily to his feet.

"Embarrassing..." Shay muttered, forced to hold onto Haytham for balance as they made their way back to the Green Dragon, ignoring the curious glances the people of Boston sent their way. It really was a blessing that the owners of the tavern never asked questions when one of them showed up bleeding all over the floorboards. They normally just fetched the mop bucket and politely asked to be informed if they would need the undertaker. ...Catherine usually a little less politely than her brother.

When they _finally_ reached the tavern and Shay collapsed into his bed, he half wished he could just bleed to death and let it be done with. It was a damn pity Haytham would have none of it. He just grabbed some of Benjamin's medical supplies, and told Shay to be quiet and hold still. Which he did, because he'd already made enough of an ass out of himself for one day. Benjamin usually patched them up when they got a thrashing, but God only knew where Thomas had taken him.

Shay honestly had to question his sanity when Haytham started undressing him to get at the bullet wound in his side, because he had no right to be thinking that maybe he'd _want_ Haytham to divest him of his clothing under different circumstances. ...And where exactly had _that_ thought come from?

"Stay still, Shay. I think you've been shot at enough times to know this is going to hurt." Haytham told him in a surprisingly gentle tone. Shay just ignored him, and bit his lip until it drew blood when Haytham set to work at removing the bullet. He flat out lost consciousness from the pain and blood loss a few moments later.

* * *

Lisbon. _Again._ Shay had relived the horror enough times to know he was dreaming by now, when the familiar scene of the quiet monastery returned. Once more, he descended into the hidden room. He hesitated this time, when he reached for the crystal, but a nagging voice in his head made him grab it anyway – or he almost did. A strong hand wrapped around his from behind, just before his fingers grazed the crystal.

"It was not your fault, what happened here." He heard Haytham's voice in his ear.

"Then why can't I stop coming back?" Shay asked wearily, leaning into the warmth of Haytham's presence.

"You haven't forgiven yourself yet." The Grand Master Replied. "It's not too late this time. Turn back, Shay."

Shay let his hand fall, and allowed himself to be guided back into the sunlight by Haytham. Children ran through through the streets laughing, and merchants went about their business. Lisbon was still standing, not crumbling like stale hardtack at the bottom of the barrel. Haytham put his arm around Shay's shoulders and pulled him close.

"You are on the right path, Shay."

When Shay finally came awake, he actually felt rested for the first time in ages. There was still a dull pain in his side from where he'd been shot, but he felt considerably better. He figured it must be early afternoon, as the tavern was mostly quiet and he could see the sunlight streaming through the curtains drawn over his window. He grunted quietly and managed to sit up properly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The red velvet chair from Haytham's room was next to his bed, with a well-worn book sitting on top of it. Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ , Shay interpreted after a few seconds of studying the nearly gone gold leaf lettering on the cracked leather spine.

He reached over and gingerly picked the book up, afraid the old thing might fall apart if he manhandled it. Carefully he opened it and read the neatly written message inside the front cover: 'Please return to Haytham E. Kenway'. He must have had the thing since he was a child, judging by the slightly untidy scrawl of the lettering. Haytham's penmanship now was absolutely immaculate.

...Had Haytham sat by his side for however long it was that he was unconscious? Shay caught himself weakly hoping that he had, and was overcome by gratitude for how much the Grand Master obviously _did_ care about him. In spite of Haytham's outward coldness, Shay knew he was capable of great kindness. Carefully, he placed the book back where it was on the chair.

"It's good to see you awake." Shay turned slowly to see Haytham standing in the doorway with a hot cup of tea and some scones in his hands. He had another book tucked under his arm, too.

"How long?" Shay asked, looking down at his hands that were folded in his lap.

"Three days, though you've woken up a few times in between. I doubt you'd remember, you weren't terribly coherent. Benjamin probably would have done a better job tending to you, but we decided to move him to New York for a while to distract the Assassins. It's just you, Johnson and I here in Boston at the moment." Haytham explained and handed Shay a blueberry scone.

"Thank you." He said and sighed heavily.

"There is nothing of interest going on at present, so make the most of it and rest. You're already starting to heal nicely." Haytham told him, and opened the new book that wasn't in much better of a state than the previous one. This one was the works of the Greek scholar Plato. Shay didn't even think anything of it as he began to nod off, listening to Haytham read some of his favorite passages from the book aloud.

Shay woke again just before sunset, to the sound of Johnson and Haytham quietly conversing in the hall outside the room.

"I don't think it makes a difference." Haytham said sharply. "There's nothing we can do right now, let the crown handle its own trifles for the moment. England's spat with France over lands that neither of them have any claim upon is not our concern right now. We need to find the next precursor site before Achilles does."

"I'll head the village, and speak with the Natives. They may know something of interest." William replied, sounding tired.

"That would be best; good luck." Haytham told him in clear dismissal and turned back into Shay's room. He listened as William's footsteps faded down the stairs and Haytham took his seat next to Shay. Wordlessly, he handed the injured ex-Assassin a cup of hot tea.

"I suppose we can read _Romeo and Juliet_ today." Haytham said, leafing through another well-loved tome.

"No, I loathe that one." Shay answered and yawned loudly. "Too depressing."

"I agree, actually." Haytham said with a chuckle. "Could I ask you something personal? You are not required to answer, of course."

"Fine." Shay said with a shrug, his mind still reeling with the ridiculous domesticity of it all. Haytham was _reading to him_ for mercy's sake. He didn't mind though; Haytham's presence was comforting and though he'd never admit it aloud, it made him feel safe. ...Which was something he couldn't ever remember feeling, not even in the earliest days of his childhood.

"You don't have much interest in women, do you?" Shay frowned, and shook his head.

"I don't mind them, but my work is more important than any... Distractions. I must be having a crisis. I once actually had an argument with Liam – the one who shot me when I fled the homestead, over what city has the fairest women. Now, I couldn't care less." Shay told him pointedly.

"Ah, I see. I thought you might prefer men." Haytham said with a smirk. Shay choked on the tea he was sipping and turned ten shades of red. _"_ So, you _do_."

"I wouldn't know. I think about it sometimes, but I never tried anything. The Assassins found enough fault with me without suspecting me of such desires." Shay grumbled and dipped a scone in his tea. ...Did Haytham live on scones and tea? He could swear he hadn't seen him ingest anything of actual substance in the past three days. Though, he couldn't really blame him. Catherine's cooking could kill a horse on a good day.

"I don't see it as a fault. Did you know the natives believe that it is possible for a man to be born with a woman's soul? It's all rather fascinating." Haytham said absently.

Shay scoffed, but smiled. "They must have met Gist then, the way he carries on and tries to hang me with my own guilt... Worse than a woman." Haytham laughed and nearly dropped his tea, which took Shay completely by surprise. Haytham rarely cracked a real smile that wasn't a mask, let alone burst into laughter at one of his allies' expense. If anything, Shay had really begun to doubt if any of the Templars had a proper sense of humor at all. ...Not that the Assassins had either.

"Very true." Haytham conceded, and quickly composed himself.

"Why have you stayed with me all this time?" Shay asked, not quite certain what he wanted the answer to be.

"Because I care for you." Haytham told him quietly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Hell, maybe it was. "When I see you sometimes, it's like looking in a mirror."

"The nightmares, you mean." Shay understood immediately. Haytham didn't reply, but it wasn't really necessary. "Thank you, again. I apologize if I seem ungrateful; I'm not used to people being quite so fond of me."

"It's difficult not to be." Haytham replied, and got up from the chair. "I'll be back later; there are more guards in town than usual. I think it would be prudent to find out why, even though it is probably nothing."

* * *

A little over a week later, Shay was mostly recovered and riding on horseback a short distance behind Haytham. He really hoped the Grand Master knew where he was going, because the woods here were thick and only the natives (and some of the french troupes), ventured this far from civilization. Still, if there was any chance of uncovering the precursor site that Haytham had been sent to the colonies to find, it was well worth the trip. Especially since he'd ran into several dead ends in the years since he left England. Only one of them was actually a precursor ruin, and only a small chamber that seemed to serve no real purpose.

They rode in silence for a while, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Shay decided that he liked the solitude and quiet of the woodland frontier. It was peaceful there. The air was filled with the sound of birdsong, and the scent of wildflowers that particular misty summer morning. Haytham didn't really know what they were looking for, just that the amulet he possessed was meant to be some sort of key. Hopefully it lead to something that would be useful, and not dangerous like the pieces of Eden that the Assassins were looking for.

Eventually, they came upon a small clearing and Haytham dismounted his white mare and tied her to a tree. Shay did the same, and followed Haytham to the entrance of a small cave. They shared a single uncertain glance, and Shay carefully climbed down inside. Once he was in, Haytham lit a small oil lantern and handed it down to him. In the gloom, he was able to make out several paintings along the walls, obviously left there by the natives. He couldn't even guess what the symbols meant, only Johnson would be able to figure out, maybe Haytham to an extent. Shay trailed his hand along the smooth wall to his right. Normal stone, not the strange glistening, crystalline rock that the precursor ruins were carved from.

"Well?" Haytham asked, his voice slightly muffled.

"It's not a precursor site, but it is some sort of ruin." Shay replied, glancing at a decaying stone statue. It was a woman dressed in furs and a horned helmet, carrying a basket of grain. She was covered in thick green moss, and some of the features of the once detailed carving had gone smooth from water dripping onto it. At her feet, was a rusty sword and shield – obviously Norse in origin.

"Viking ruin." Shay corrected himself. "I think it is a tomb." He he added, noticing other small objects like a bronze necklace and a set of worn golden wedding rings lying near the sword and shield.

"Fascinating, but not what we came here to find." Haytham said bitterly, and climbed into the ruin behind Shay. "Vikings, indeed. We should give them more credit, this recent discovery of the network of objects supporting the earth is quite reminiscent of their legends concerning the great tree, Yggdrasil."

"I never really bothered to learn much of their lore." Shay said somewhat sheepishly and followed Haytham back into the late afternoon sunlight. "I suppose I should; it couldn't hurt." He added, brushing dirt off his clothes.

"It would be a good idea." Haytham agreed. "We should set up camp here, it's almost nightfall and I don't relish traveling at night in unfamiliar territory."

"Reasonable enough." Shay said with a shrug, and began gathering some wood to make a fire.

After the sun set, they sat together near the fire – Shay poking at the glowing embers with a stick, and Haytham writing in his journal. It was a companionable silence, and Shay felt more at ease than he had in a long time, even if he could swear his heart ached. It reminded him of camping on the homestead when he needed a break from the others. Liam and Hope joined him sometimes. They would sing the sea shanties Shay's father taught him, or tell stories over a bottle of whiskey well into the night. ...But Hope was dead now, and Liam would be too if their paths ever crossed.

"I'll take first watch. You can rest if you like, Master Kenway." Shay said quietly, knowing full well that he would never be able to sleep while thinking of his friends. He did what he had to, but it did still feel like a betrayal. It _was_ a betrayal, one that had to be made. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back against the old fallen log behind him. He listened to the sounds of the night insects, and the scratching of Haytham's pen as he wrote, letting it calm his nerves.

"Are you sure, you look about ready to nod off." The other man said curtly.

"I was just thinking, that's all." Shay said and got up to toss a new log on the fire. "I used to camp like this on Achilles homestead, when I wanted time to myself. I haven't really had much cause to be in the woods since then. It's a good change of pace, I think."

"I never did, before coming here to the colonies. My father was a pirate, and later retired to London with his fortune long before I was born. My definition of wilderness was the small yard behind our mansion in Queen Anne's square." Haytham answered with a fond smile.

"A pirate _and_ an Assassin? He must have had some interesting stories to tell." Shay replied, trying imagine what kind of a life the infamous Edward Kenway had led."

"He never spoke of it much, honestly. A shame, really." Haytham said with a sigh. "Speaking of stories, how did you get that scar on your face? Call it misplaced curiosity, but I've wondered about it for a while."

"I'd like to say that when my father's ship was attacked, I took a bayonet to the face trying to save him. But it's not nearly that glamorous. ...Hope backhanded me for trying to get her under skirts while drunk. She forgot she was wearing that monstrously huge emerald ring that had a little hidden compartment to store poison in." Shay explained more than a little sheepishly. Haytham chuckled and shook his head.

"I do pray that she regretted marring such a handsome face." He said, shaking his head.

"I doubt it, but the others made fun of me for years." Shay said with a shrug.

"No matter, it suits you." Shay gave him a sideways glance.

"You aren't very interested in women, either. Are you?" He asked, wishing he could shove his foot in his mouth before he even finished the sentence. The last thing he wanted to do was insult Haytham. He admired and respected the man far more than anyone he'd ever met, never mind the unexpected friendship they'd established.

"In truth, no." Haytham told Shay thoughtfully. "From a very young age, I was aiding the Templars and had neither the time nor drive to be bothered by romance. Ziio was an exception. But Charles, the fool, ruined anything that might have come of it. Though, it matters little. I think we both knew it was never meant to be."

Shay didn't reply, he just stared into space vacantly listening the orchestra of crickets and frogs in the woods. That was the first time Haytham had ever mentioned the Native women he'd been smitten with by name. Shay was so distracted, he didn't even notice Haytham move closer to him until he dropped his hat onto Shay's head, and threw his arm around his shoulders. Frowning, he tilted the hat up from where it fell over his eyes. It wasn't until then that he recalled Haytham undressing him after the fiasco in Manhattan... And how he'd thought for a moment that he'd kill for that under the right circumstances.

Haytham wasn't exactly being subtle, either.

"When Thomas suggested that we find 'quality company', I doubt this was what he meant." Shay groused, and they both fell into a fit of hopeless laughter. It took a few minutes for them to compose themselves. And for a brief, shining moment, Shay allowed himself to think that maybe everything was right with the universe. It was always surprising (not to mention a tad bit unnerving), to see the usually stoic, serious Haytham let loose and laugh.

"I was wondering how much longer it would take for you to get the hint." Haytham said with a smirk.

"You could have just asked." Shay complained halfheartedly, and found himself pinned to the log behind him with Haytham's lips against his and a knee in his groin. His head spun and he honestly thought he might of suffocated when Haytham finally finally broke the rather predatory kiss.

" _Damn_." Shay breathed and met Haytham's eyes just before he leaned down and nipped at Shay's throat. The thought crossed Shay's mind to at least _try_ to gain the upper hand, but it was about as easy as getting Thomas to take a bath. Instead, he wound up on on his bedroll with half his clothes already tossed carelessly aside, and Haytham's weight pinning him to the ground. He doubted he could get out of his own clothes so fast. He would have laughed, had Haytham not taken his lips in another hungry kiss and trailed a gentle touch across the scar on his face.

"Trust me." Haytham whispered in Shay's ear as he unlaced his trousers, and it was nearly his undoing.

* * *

If Shay dreamed that night, he didn't remember a thing. Well, other than heated touches, desperate moans and a strange but wonderful sensation of being utterly _owned_ by Haytham. There was no arguing that; Shay was his and he knew it. He didn't really give a damn, either. Waking up feeling completely stated, surrounded by the warmth of Haytham's presence, was a truly beautiful thing.

"Good morning." Haytham said lazily when he noticed that Shay had finally woken up. "We should head back to Boston soon."

"Mmm. If you say so." Shay mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes and running his fingers through his hopelessly disheveled hair.

"You look thoroughly debauched." Haytham commented with a chuckle.

"I _feel_ thoroughly debauched. When can we do that again?" Shay asked breathlessly and yawned as he sat up and reached for the nearest piece of his clothing, which happened to be his pants.

"Anytime you so desire." Haytham said and started pulling on his clothes as well. "If you behave, I may even allow you to take me next time." He added with a slightly mocking tone.

"I accept this challenge." Shay replied with a chuckle, buttoning his overcoat and hurrying after Haytham who was already fully dressed and untying their horses.

So, back to Boston it was, then toward whatever the next lead was to stop the Assassins from laying waste to another city like Lisbon. Regardless, Shay's prospects felt a lot less bleak as Haytham gave him another soft kiss – against his scarred cheek, just below his eye.

He didn't feel quite so lost anymore.


End file.
